#how to stay sane in an age of division

[mythoughttherapy]

“In a world that is ever shifting and unpredictable, I've come to believe it is totally fine not to feel fine. It is perfectly okay not be okay. If truth be told, if from time to time, you do not catch yourself overwhelmed and exhausted, or even incandescent, maybe you are not really following what is going on - here, there and everywhere.”

—Elif Shafak, How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division

[ijustkindalikebooks]

Taken from 'How To Stay Sane In An Age Of Division' by Elif Shafak.

[thekillingmoonmoon]

guys my age

Pairing: Kishibe x Fem! Reader Warnings: NSFW, age gap (Kishibe is however old he is – 50? Reader is late twenties), smoking, alcohol,  reader goes through a breakup but it’s not a bad one Length: 4k Song: Guys My Age – Hey Violet

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you read your phone’s screen again and cussed, throwing yourself down on the hotel bed with a thump. “Trouble in paradise?” Kishibe looked over from the windowsill, the smoke swirling around his head in a sunlit halo. “More like, good riddance to bad rubbish,” you groaned, dropping your phone to the mattress beside you. “At least one of my problems has the good grace to sort itself out,” you grumbled, leaning back and pinching the bridge of your nose. “Which one of your problems was it? Rent? The boyfriend? Makima?” you peered at Kishibe from where you lay, squinting at him in confusion. Since when did he care?

“If it was Makima, I think we’d be in a very different position right now,” You answered, gesturing to the rundown hotel you were currently staying in. Kishibe scoffed out a chuckle and took a sip from his flask, offering it to you when you eyed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he drank. You took the flask with thanks and threw it back, relishing the honeyed burn of the whiskey as it spilt down your supple throat. You missed how Kishibe watched you drink, how his dark eyes narrowed when a drop of liquor slipped past your lips and down your chin, trickling in its cinnamon sweetness down your silken neck. You cleared your throat.

 “It’s the boyfriend,” you chuckled drily, “The trash took itself out this time.” Kishibe raised a brow. “Tsunada broke up with you?” once more, you squinted at Kishibe, wondering when he had ever bothered learning the name of the third division hunter you were dating for the last six months. Emphasis on ���were”, as the man in question had just broken up with you for being ‘too serious’. “Yep,” You flopped back on the bed, a blood spatter of red and white on the navy sheets.

“You should wash,” Kishibe instructed, and you groaned, wanting to throw yourself on the bed and sleep for the next ten years. But Kishibe had drinking plans, and as his partner, it was expected that you join him. You rolled yourself upward and grabbed your bag from the end of the bed, leaving Kishibe to seat himself on the twin bed on the other side of the room. You threw his towel at him as you closed the bathroom door, muttering about ‘old men getting sick’ and you not wanting to play nursemaid if he got ill from leaving his hair wet. You barely heard his reply but knew it had something to do with what you’d look like in a nurse’s uniform. You flushed at the thought, and slapping your cheeks at your embarrassment, stepped into the shower. The room still smelled of him, of heady musk and light pine, of cinnamon cigarettes and expensive aftershave, and as you breathed him in, you realised how truly fucked you were.

You were in love with Kishibe. Undoubtedly, irrevocably in love.  After three years as his rookie partner, you’d fallen into a neat rhythm with the older man, quickly becoming the most efficient pair of hunters in Public Safety. The rumours swirled in your wake, the young pup to charm the old war dog, the only partner to last through Kishibe’s rough training and still come out of it semi-sane on the other side. Not that you’d claim to be sane. Not after all the things you had seen. Not after falling for a man nearly twice your age and as emotionally unavailable as a stray black cat. Tsunada had been a distraction, as had the three guys before him. All young and bright-eyed boys whose reckless charm and careless caresses had only barely filled the aching gap in your heart, so empty of cynicism and bitter whiskey.  You undid your hair, grimacing at the flicker of dried blood that fell from your tresses. You plunged in to wash your hair, scrubbing your skull so hard, hoping that you could scrub yourself clean of Kishibe.

Today had been another successful hunt, way out in the boondocks of some country town, where a Corruption Devil had settled in. It had taken you more than half a day to get to the town, but less than two hours to get rid of the devil, and now you were stuck halfway home, forced to stay the night in a hotel. It wasn’t the first time you had been forced to share a hotel room with Kishibe, but it was the first time neither had been so mortally wounded to require around-the-clock nursing. You wondered if the same easy silence that filled your sunlit hours would pervade the darkness as well. You hoped it would, and the warm uneasiness that had been building up in your lower stomach over the last year or so would disappear into the night, along with the sounds of Kishibe’s chainsaw snoring.

You shook your hair out, happy only once the water ran clean and stepped out of the shower. You needed a distraction. From your ex-boyfriend. From Kishibe. For whatever feelings you had for Kishibe.  You rinsed yourself off and rummaged in your bag, pulling out a fresh white shirt. You thought to the night of drinking ahead and wondered if Kishibe would let you get some company for yourself this evening. You needed it. Needed the rush of playing cat-and-mouse, of fumbling hands in the dark, of losing yourself in someone else’s body for the first time in months. You left a few buttons undone, showing off a tasteful sliver of cleavage as you huffed and puffed back into your trousers. You did your hair and face, sure to put on a lipstick that screamed ‘fuck me,’ and stepped out of the bathroom.

Kishibe choked on his flask, hacking up what sounded like half a lung when he saw you exit the bathroom.

 “What?” was all you said, raising your eyebrow as the man, “did you forget I was a woman?” Kishibe could only cough in response. You grabbed your jacket,

“Let’s go.”

…

You weren’t drunk enough for this. Not for this drivelling conversation and certainly not for the slimy pickup lines slithering from the hunter across the table. Kishibe was lost in a conversation, nodding and hemming along to whatever was being said by the senior hunters. You needed a smoke. You scrambled to your feet, meeting Kishibe’s eyes as he looked across at your movement. You motioned that you were going for a smoke and he nodded in understanding.

You broke free into the darkness, breathing in the heady scent of wet asphalt and city lights. You rounded a corner into an alley and fiddled around in your jacket pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a light. You flickered the flame to life, thinking of all the times you had lit Kishibe’s smokes, leaning in between gaps in the rain, sharing breaths in the muggy air. Smoke trickled from your mouth in a dark dragon of grey and blue, the clouds catching the reflection of the neon sign of the bar above your head.

 “Hey baby,” came a dark coo, and you tilted your head to peer into the dark.  “Kishibe?” you asked, despite knowing it wasn’t him. You would know his voice anywhere, that deep soft rasp that stirred your lower stomach into a fluttering of iron butterflies. “Aw, darling, you wound me. As if I would ever come close to that gross old bastard.” It was the hunter from before, the one whose pickup lines were worse than any of the drivel Tsunada had fed you. “I’m not interested,” you gave a polite smile and prepared to go back inside. “Really, because you were giving me bedroom eyes back there,” he approached you, coming closer and closer, tainting the air with the bitter tang of beer and old cigarettes  “You made an incorrect assumption then,” you corrected him, straightening out and preparing to throw your cigarette out onto the damp concrete. A pity, you wanted to savour it. He crowded up to you, using his height against you, casting a shadow over your shorter form. You looked up at him, tilting your head and squinting. “Aw, don’t be so frigid, baby,” he leaned his hand above your head, effectively pinning you between the wall and his body. You sighed. You really didn’t want to start a fight, especially not with another hunter. “She isn’t being frigid, boy, she’s being polite,” oh, that smoke-saturated voice soothed you, getting you to drop your guard as you saw Kishibe flicker into view. “Get lost, punk,” he said, motioning for the guy to walk, and the idiot listened, suddenly aware that he was between the two toughest devil hunters in the agency.  Kishibe came to stand beside you, cigarette already clenched between his teeth. You lit up for him, relishing the way he leaned in close, the scent of his aftershave rolling down your spine. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall next to you.

“Did I ever tell you that you have shit taste in men?” he asked, and you snorted. “No, but I believe you,” you answered, shaking your head. “Why do you go for punks like him?” “I don’t know,” you huffed, “their boyish charm,” you lied. Kishibe tsked. "Clearly you need a real man,” he said, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. What was he playing at? You shrugged.  “Unfortunately, those are hard to come by, unless you know any takers?” you jibed, a little gutsy, now that you weren’t looking Kishibe in the dark, depthless eyes. “I could name a few,” he grunted, and this time you properly turned and looked at him. He took a step toward you, moving closer than ever before, a mere breath away. He looked down at you, all rippling muscles and rugged scars. “And would your name be on that list?” You closed your eyes as you asked, hating to see the reaction in his eyes. You could feel him, almost sense his body around you, surrounding you. “Well, you’d never have to go out dressed like this again,” a single calloused finger traced the low fit of your shirt, almost brushing your breasts. “Or mess around with those boys again,” he rumbled, his finger trailing up your throat, where he gripped your chin.

“Tell me, princess,” he rumbled, “did that bastard even make you cum?” You were sure he could feel the blush radiating off your cheeks, but you bit your lower lip and shook your head. The noise that left Kishibe’s throat was dark and deep as it vibrated through you, sending shivers down your spine as he leaned down. He was just a whiskey’s breath away, all cinnamon and sinful musk, his dark eyes watching your face as he drew closer.

 “Tell me to stop,” he said, and you threw all caution to the wind. You grabbed his tie and pulled him down, crashing your lips to his, tasting the bitter tang of beer on his lips. For a moment, Kishibe paused, his eyes wide open, before he was kissing you, driving you back into the wall, stealing every gasp of air from your desperate lips.

 “Fuck,” he cursed as he pinned you to the cold bricks behind you, pressing his tongue past your teeth and flooding you with the taste of him. His hands seemed reluctant to touch you, so you grabbed them from the wall behind you and settled his hands on your waist and hips. His thick hands were eager, filling you with warmth as he gripped and groped at your flesh. His hips found yours, pressing you even deeper into the wall, his thigh coming in between your legs to push at the apex of your legs. You whine, feeling him rub his thigh over your needy cunt and his hips stutter against yours.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he gripped your hips, rocking them over his thigh, fucking you on his leg. You moan his name, and he groans, stopping and grabbing your hands as they explore his toned chest.

For a moment you think he wants to stop, that he’s rejecting you, and you feel like you could curl up and disappear, but he reads the bright fear in your eyes and leans in, pressing a single chaste kiss to your swollen lips.

 “Relax doll, I’m only taking you somewhere else,” he rumbled, “somewhere no one can interrupt us.”

You blindly followed him through the dark, stumbling behind him as he makes the short trip back to your dingy hotel room. He held your hand the whole time, large and warm and engulfing yours in its calloused grip. Once in the elevator, he turned to you, dark eyes suddenly serious, despite the hunter’s light that shone deep in their murky depths.

 “This is your last chance, sweetheart,” He stepped closer, crowding you into the corner of the lift, his trench coat shielding you from view, “Tell this dirty old man to stop.”

“Why would I?” you answered, grabbing at the lapels of his jacket, reaching up on your tiptoes to lay a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, where his scar severed his face. He groaned at your featherlight touch, his hand coming up behind your head to meld your lips to his, holding you tight to his body, so that you could feel his muscles ripple against your tender touch. He only tore away when the elevator dinged your sudden arrival and then he was gone again, practically dragging you through the door and pressing you up against the cool wood, his mouth meeting yours once again. He pushed your jacket from your shoulders, gripping your upper arms tight as he laid a trail of sloppy kisses down your jaw. He sucked your skin into his mouth, nipping and suckling at the skin until he was sure he had left his mark on you. You shucked his jacket off as well, throwing the heavy canvas aside and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He was quick to do the same, exposing your tits to his hungry mouth as he cupped you beneath your bra.

 “Fuck, look at these tits,” he cooed, squeezing and groping at the soft flesh, “So fucking beautiful, better than I ever imagined,” he groaned, biting and teasing your nipple through the fabric of your bra. He scraped his teeth up your chest, slithering his hands down the slope of your stomach until he reached the waistband of your pants. He made quick work of the belt and zipper, sending your pants to your knees as he teased your clit through the fabric. Your hips bucked, unused to any decent touch and you blushed, flushed hot by the sudden attention after being neglected for so long. Kishibe kissed you harshly again, biting your lower lip back with a pop before skimming down your body. He nipped at your stomach, lathing his love over your belly, pulling down your panties. He watched a thin string of your arousal cling to the fabric and he hummed, helping you step out of your clothes. He knelt before you, reverent in his worship, fumbling prayer from his scarred lips as he licked and sucked at the skin around your cunt. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and sunk his tongue into your cunt, his huge hands engulfing your hips to stop you from bucking onto his face. He licked a slow stripe up your pussy, finding your clit and swirling his tongue around it until you could feel your cunt clench around nothing.

“You’re gonna cum on my face, princess,” Kishibe told you, murmuring into your slick silken skin, “and then you’re gonna cum on my cock, yeah?”, he lapped at you before you could respond, pulling a low keen from your pouty lips before your voice broke into shattered pants. His tongue worked wonders, pressing the hot wet muscle up and into your pussy, effectively fucking you with his tongue. His one hand left your hips, trailing down your thigh and coming up below his chin. The first finger felt like heaven, pushing past your soft velvet walls into your pulsing pussy, reaching, searching until he found the spot that had you shuddering, hips shaking in his grip. He slowly pumped his finger inside you, pushing and pressing as you whined and moaned above him, his mouth never leaving your clit as he traced the kanji of his name over the bundle of nerves. The second finger had your knees buckling, his fingers thicker and heavier than your own, stretching your cunt out to take his cock. He kept sucking at your clit, sending shivers down your spine as he worked you toward climax. His third finger was a surprise, welcomed with a hushed gasp and whimper from your swollen lips as he pushed his knuckles past your puffy folds.

“That’s it, doll,” he encouraged, “take them all.” You could feel pressure pulsing in your lower stomach, sending strawberry starbursts up your spine. You felt dizzy, drowning in the sound of Kishibe lapping and slurping at your cunt. You could feel your climax build, and by the clench of your cunt, Kishibe knew you were close too. He renewed his pumping into your cunt and sucked hard on your clit, tossing you over the edge into a starstruck spiral of static pleasure. He groaned as you came, sucking and lapping up all that seeped from your pretty pussy.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbled, rising from a crouch and kissing you hard. He gripped your hips to his, holding you up against the wall as your knees shook. You tasted yourself on his tongue, moaning at the saccharine tartness as his tongue slipped into your mouth. He stepped back with you stumbling after, holding you upright and pushing you softly down onto the nearest mattress. You bounced on the springy softness, looking up at Kishibe with wide doe-eyes, already fucked out on the orgasm wrought by his tongue and fingers. You stared at him through dreamy eyes, sitting up and reaching for his belt buckle.

 “Easy there, sweetheart,” Kishibe’s hands cover yours, “are you sure you want this?” he asked. You blinked up at him and grabbed his tie, tugging him further down to reach your eye level.

 “I want you, Kishibe,” you soothed, “show me how a real man fucks.” He swore then, unhooking his belt and dropping his pants quickly as he crawled over you on the bed.  You reached down to palm him through his boxers, revelling in the hissed breath that caught low in his throat as you gripped his thick length. He was big, thick and heavy in your hand as you slipped your fingers below his waistband. You smoothed your fingers over his velvet head, smearing pre down his shaft as you pumped him in your hands. He groaned, a restrained grunt spilling past clenched teeth as he moved your hands away and shifted his boxers down and away. You were now bare to each other, your glistening pussy to his twitching length, chest to chest, skin to skin. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time softly as he ran his cock through your soaked folds. You moaned as his cockhead hit your clit, feeling waves of static ripple down your spine. He pressed his cockhead at your entrance.

“You ready, princess?” he gravelled, and you nodded eagerly, your soft silken folds leaving trails of slick on his pulsing skin.

 “Yes,” You panted, “please, Kishibe,” you huffed, the breath pushed from your lungs as he began to ease his cock into your cunt. You groaned at the tight strawberry stretch, sending sparks through your limbs. He filled you slowly, surely, stretching you out until you felt split by his heavy cock.

 “Fuck, doll,” Kishibe paused, slinging your leg up onto his shoulder, “you’re so fucking tight, hah?” He pressed you into the mattress, leaning down and folding you in two as his cock sunk in to the hilt. You gasped, feeling him in the pit of your stomach, twitching in impatience. He paused for a brief moment, as the pair of you caught your breath, you reaching up to him to pull his head down for a kiss, all teeth and tongue and spit as he sucked on your lower lip. He moved languidly, rolling his hips back and out of your plush cunt, and back in with a muted hiss. He set a slow pace, making you feel every inch of him as he ebbed and flowed over your trembling body. His cock reached the deepest part of you, brushing up and over the points that had your eyes rolling back and jaw clenching. You muffled your whines with your hand, reaching up to bite your fist as Kishibe’s hips made contact with yours. He grabbed your wrists and held them above your head.

 “Let me hear those noises, pretty girl, else I won’t be so gentle,” Kishibe warned, nipping the supple skin of your throat.

 “I never asked you to be gentle,” you pouted and prompted a low groan to trickle from Kishibe’s throat.

 “Why?” he snarled, “You want it rough, doll?” he asked, slamming his hips into you with a sudden rush. You scrambled, fingers white-knuckled as your fisted the sheets above your head, your back arching deep as he pressed the pressure point in your cunt.

 “Yes!” you exclaimed, pressing your tits up into his chest. He gripped your hips, hard enough to leave a mark there come tomorrow, and pulled you onto his cock, stopping slightly before setting off at a brutal pace. The sounds of skin on skin surrounded you, wet and sticky and soaked with sweat as Kishibe pounded mercilessly into your pussy, a string of grunts and growls spilling from his lips to your chest. You mewled, releasing your wrists to sink your fingers deep into the muscles of his back, feeling the muscles shift and ripple beneath your clawing nails. You were sure you drew blood, but couldn’t tell as pressure bloomed deep inside your core, burning through your limbs with the fury of a forest fire. Kishibe could feel you clench around him, so soft and strong as his cock pumped into your plush pussy. He stopped, grabbing you by the back of your knees and pushing your legs to your chest. He pistoned into your cunt with speed, his one hand coming down to rub quick circles around your clit. You quickly drew close to climax, feeling each press of his cock deep in your cunt and every swipe of his thumb sending you closer and closer.

“I’m gonna – “ You panted, “I’m gonna cum!” you breathed, keening as the first shudders of your body shook you to your core.

 “Then cum, sweetheart, cum for me,” he groaned in your ear, increasing pressure on your clit until you were shaking in the cage of his arms, limbs twitching and trembling as he fucked you through your high. His name was the only word to fall from your lips, slurred out slowly as he spilt himself deep into your cunt.

 “Fuck,” he grunted, holding himself over you as his hips stilled against yours. You whined when he pulled out, already missing the warmth of his hale body as he withdrew from you. He stepped into the bathroom briefly, exiting only when he saw you shakily try to get off the bed. He tipped you back onto the mattress, a warm washcloth in hand.

 “Don’t run away so fast,” he scolded, gently, rubbing at your battered thighs and leaking cunt.

 “I’m not running,” you said and he looked at you. He crouched before you and reached up to cup your jaw.

“You can run, I won’t stop you. But know that I’ll be coming for you,” he kissed your cheek, “You’re mine now, princess.”

Join my Taglist

I do not own Chainsaw Man, or any of the related characters. Chainsaw Man is created and owned by Tatsuki Fujimoto. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Chainsaw Man belong to Tatsuki Fugimoto. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated

all images and gifs used are either from popular media or from stock photos. I do not own or take credit for any of the images, only edits

[luxe-pauvre]

I love your monthly lists, please keep them going! There were no fiction books in your best of 2022 so I'm wondering what your best books of 2022 by genre were?

I'm going to take some liberties in choosing my own very rough genres/categories here and put my five favourites in each.

Non-Fiction (medicine/sciences)

The Act of Living: What the Great Psychologists Can Teach Us About Surviving Discontent in an Age of Anxiety by Frank Tallis

Sedated: How Modern Capitalism Created our Mental Health Crisis by James Davies

Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty by Patrick Madden Keefe

Seven and a Half Lessons About the Brain by Lisa Feldman Barrett

The Joy of Science by Jim Al-Khalili

Honourable mentions: And Finally by Henry Marsh, How to Survive a Plague by David France, The Sleeping Beauties by Suzanne O'Sullivan.

Non-Fiction (everything else)

Expert by Roger Kneebone

Orwell's Roses by Rebecca Solnit

The Tyranny of Merit: What's Become of the Common Good? by Michael J. Sandel

How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division by Elif Shafak

Accomplishment by Michael Barber

Honourable mentions: Mission Economy: A Moonshot Guide to Changing Capitalism by Mariana Mazzucato, The Biggest Bluff by Maria Konnikova, Women and Other Monsters by Jess Zimmerman.

Fiction

The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa

Insatiable by Daisy Buchanan

Circe by Madeline Miller

Bunny by Mona Awad

Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler

Honourable mentions: The Harpy by Megan Hunter, A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado.

[snowbanshee]

For the headcanon meme ! ☮ - friendship headcanon

Little Sephiroth was a lively and optimistic toddler, well liked by many people working in Research and Development Division. He would impatiently wait for Prof Gast to come to work in the morning and would be sad he had to leave in the afternoon. One day Gast didn't show up and it left Sephiroth with a lot of questions and some abandonment issues.

When he was a bit older, he travelled the Planet, with Hojo hoping he would find the way to the Promised Land (which is not a real place, but afterlife). During those travels, Sephiroth met other children, yet he never stayed in one place long enough, and sometimes there was a language barrier, so no friendships developed.

After failing to locate some non-existing place, he was repurposed as a weapon. Friendships became even less likely, a preteen in military barracks, the youngest yet the one who got promoted earliest to 2nd and 1st Class SOLDIER.

After the missions started, Sephiroth even put actual effort to make friends with local people his age, however, ShinRa's SOLDIER was rarely welcomed. He did have some friends here and there, but in some places ShinRa was an aggressor and Sephiroth was still relocated a lot. Once he became friends with another young boy who worked for ShinRa, but he was killed in action.

His friendship with Genesis and Angeal was the most genuine and longest one.

Genesis. This was not a healthy relationship at all. They were enemies the same amount they were friends, because they simply brought the worst in one another. Genesis needed attention and validation, Sephiroth would ignore him, Genesis would try many tactics to get his attention, but provocations worked the best. Sephiroth was too proud, too competitive and too pragmatic. He could have let Genesis win once in a while. He could have complimented Genesis' interests without backhanded snide remarks. He could have given Genesis some validation without one-upping him, but Sephiroth didn't know how. Sephiroth could only give him cold hard truth, because that's the only thing he knew. Genesis probably could have tried different approaches, maybe participate in a hobby Sephiroth liked instead of forcing his own hobbies, interests and attitudes on the other. But in the end of the day, despite all the toxicity and drama, they were close friends. They were so much alike, the experiences that shaped them, not knowing their parents, being infused with Jenova cells, being world-famous SOLDIERs brought them together. I guess with a couple years of therapy and after learning how not to poke at one another's deepest insecurities, they could have been one another's rock. They had their sweet moments when they eventually learned to coexist, going as far as playing silly games in the training room and not being afraid to openly express their concerns about one another's well-being. However, in the end, instead of helping, they chose to destroy one another.

Angeal. While Angeal's best friend was always Genesis, he and Sephiroth had a close relationship. Angeal was healthy enough not to bring Sephiroth down to make himself feel better. At first Sephiroth was reluctant and uncomfortable in what felt like third wheeling, but soon was drawn to the calmness and maturity radiating from Angeal. He reminded Sephiroth of Prof. Gast in a way that he was sane and reliable, always reasonable, always had a strong moral compass. While he might not willingly admit it, Sephiroth learned a lot from Angeal, he was a rare positive influence in otherwise turbulent world. However, the minute Sephiroth realised Genesis deserted he knew Angeal would follow. He knew if Angeal had to pick one, he would pick Genesis in a heartbeat. While Sephiroth never blamed Angeal, being abandoned by him was a major factor in his downfall. Being backstabbed by Genesis hurt, but not nearly as much as losing Angeal.

Lazard. It was a rough start. Being transferred from "property of Hojo, Director of D&R" to "property of SOLDIER under Director Lazard", Sephiroth was skeptical, uncooperative and as distrusting as humanly (inhumanly?) possible. Lazard's methods were nothing like Hojo's. One day Lazard informed Sephiroth he was being sent on some low priority mission that just coincides with ShinRa's Christmas party. Sephiroth openly mocked him before Lazard informed him that yes, he knows how much Sephiroth despises ShinRa's parties, he knows how much he likes being away from big cities and how good he feels in cold climate. It was not a punishment, but a gift in hopes that Sephiroth would be less distrusting. It still took a lot of time for Sephiroth to stop assuming his superior is looking for ways to harm and abuse him. It took Lazard a couple of years to undo some of the harm Hojo did, because at first Sephiroth wouldn't even share some important information like he's wounded or there's not enough food for the mission, because Hojo never cared, so why would Lazard? After Lazard proved that he is not going to trick or betray Sephiroth, he mistook Lazard's kindness for something else, even found excuses to spend more time in Lazard's office. Then Lazard tricked and betrayed him. But for a while, they got along very well, giving one another what they never had. Lazard never felt as safe as he was on missions with Sephiroth, knowing there was a strong and reliable man ready to stop an army to protect him. If only he had someone like that in the slums, when other boys would beat him up. And Sephiroth never felt so understood and cared for, because Lazard really took his time to study First's likes, dislikes, needs and fears.

Zack - Angeal's puppy was something the trio needed. Someone not broken, someone with constant smile on his face, youthful optimism and so much will to live. Like spending time with an actual puppy, it was therapeutic for Sephiroth to be around someone radiating that much happiness. Still, Sephiroth never saw him as an equal. A precious and admirable person, yes. But not someone he could ask for help. So in Nibelheim, when Sephiroth felt he was about to break, when he knew he had to leave ShinRa, even if it meant they'll never stop trying to hunt him down, when the battle inside his head was worse than the battles around him, he started to trauma-dump ("don't know what's it like to have a hometown", "mother died soon after I was born"), but Sephiroth stopped. He probably would have continued with the right person, but Zack was too young, too naive, too inexperienced. A 19 year old child, accompanying his hero on a difficult mission.

[shortskirtsandsarcasm]

How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division Review

As soon as I saw that Elif Shafak had a book of essays out, I bought it. Not only is she a prolific and talented novelist, but she is also a prolific and talented essayist. I became aware of her when I found her memoir Black Milk in a bookstore in rural northern California and have been a huge admirer ever since.

It’s the third day of the ballot count in the USA, and I have been doggedly watching it since it started. It’s an incredibly stressful time and I decided to take a break and read Shafak’s new book. Since the theme is division, it dovetails well with the current election climate and the extremely narrow margins of the counts. Shafak expresses righteous anger at the world’s current injustices, but does not get lost in despair. Her essays on anxiety and on anger are soothing and inspiring and instantly made me feel better.

Perhaps the most powerful of her essays in this book is “Disillusionment and Bewilderment.” It weaves together her family history, her appreciation for Turkish culture, and hopeful antidotes to feeling despair and voicelessness. But what really got me was her passages on what it means to leave your home, be “from” multiple places, and homesickness.

Motherlands are castles made of glass. In order to leave them, you have to break something — a wall, a social convention, a cultural norm, a psychological barrier, a heart. What you have broken will haunt you. To be an émigré, therefore, means to forever bear shards of glass in your pockets. It is easy to forget they are there, light and minuscule as they are, and go on with your life, your little ambitions and important plans, but at the slightest contact the shards will remind you of their presence. They will cut you deep.

This book made me cry. It’s clear why Elif Shafak is my favorite author.

[tolkien-feels]

Looking at your Mae-Magst-Celegorm thingy and thinking how the attitude of "I'm the responsible one" of Mae and Teleko would crash and while not noticable in Valinor but after Maedhros' capture, then shift of the crown the gap got noticable (Celegorm could view it as someone taking away his birthright) , and then the whole Finrod-Luthien debacle happened and after that — Nirn...

Just pointing out that generals don't stay in charge after devastating losses, so even if Mae was the head of the house on paper the actual control and loyalty of the people may shift to someone else. Maglor wouldn't take it up, he's too loyal to Mae. Celegorm though? I picture him to want control and power. And it wasn't against his charge that people revolted against, but Mae's

Aaaaas usual, disclaimer that I Absolutely Suck At Politics, but: I do think Celegorm and Maedhros have a... complicated relationship in Beleriand.

We aren't told who didn't think Maedhros should've given up the crown, but I tend to headcanon Celegorm is included. I don't even think Celegorm is necessarily power-hungry at that point, it's more a matter of... "That was our father's birthright that was so important to him, and you gave it away, you had no right to do that" - imho Celegorm seems to be more loyal to Feanor than I feel most people give him credit for.

And it's not that Maedhros isn't loyal to Feanor, but I think whenever possible, Maedhros puts the Noldor above personal loyalties - even to his father - while Celegorm seems to take a very personal view of, well, everything ever.

I would almost characterize the conflict I'm picturing as Celegorm thinking Maedhros is being hypocritical - wanting to both give up on his birthrights (crown and Silmarils both) and control what their House can and can't do, and the longer this goes on, the less happy Celegorm is with the situation. Either take charge, or don't! You can't control the House but then not represent its pride and strength to outsiders!!

In other words, I'm pretty sure if Maedhros went "Actually, I'll storm Angband and die. Who is with me?" Celegorm would follow him in a heartbeat. But that's the thing - Celegorm would follow Maedhros to certain death, but not to what I think Celegorm sees as unearned peace, little more than shameful inaction.

Maedhros seems to be a very charismatic leader and very capable in battle, and he's Feanor's beloved heir, and so I think most Feanorians, even those who disagree with his calls, are willing to accept him as their leader. But for those who aren't? Celegorm might be the natural choice to follow, not just because he's first in line for leadership (if you ignore Maglor, who no sane person would think would ever challenge Maedhros), but also because Curufin openly supports Celegorm, and Curufin must be someone many Feanorians feel is another heir to Feanor.

And as Maedhros's losses begin to outnumber his wins, I do think the power shifts to Celegorm, and while I don't think he's like I Am The True Leader-ing, I don't think he would (as Maglor would) immediately shoot down anything resembling treason. He probably thinks he can handle it? It won't cause division, it's fine, he's got this. He's just doing what he swore to Feanor he would do, keeping the pride of their House alive, getting the Silmarils, taking down Morgoth, getting themselves lands to rule - and then Maedhros can go back and play nice with every elf lordling he meets if he really wants to. But Celegorm's loyalty to Feanor and his loyalty to the Oath are both greater than his loyalty to Maedhros, so he's okay with um, being very creative about what allegiance to Maedhros means.

People turning on each other - especially Noldor - is the pattern of the Silm, so I think even if we never get the details, we should probably assume that the further we get into the First Age, the more divided the Feanorians (the people, not the family) become.

.....but again. I suck at politics so I don't know if any of this holds up to scrutiny, and I have never carefully read the text checking if this theory works, it's just my gut feeling reaction to your ask.

[ota-division]

Chinami's Thoughts on Kyoto Division

Lana Alarie

Chinami puts her hands on the crystal ball she uses for scrying before speaking the name of the Kyoto Division's leader.

"Lana Alarie."

Within moments, a series of images appear on her crystal ball. It shows a young Lana with a man resembling her father, though his features are obscured. A young girl appears beside Lana with similar features. Her sister, maybe? ...Yes, that is her. The two have a close sibling relationship, as they only have each other to rely on.

Fast forward a few years, Chuohku has risen in power. The father is nowhere to be found, and an older woman resembling Lana assumes control of the household, treating its inhabitants as little more than tools and nuisances. The scene changes to show Lana bloodied while standing protectively in front of her sibling. She is pushed aside, and struggles in vain to stay awake, her hand reaching out to her young sibling.

The scene changes once more, now showing Lana in her current state. She has a smile on her face, yet it is full of pain. The memories of the past still weigh heavily on her. She finds herself at a crossroads, one leading towards a future where she tries to forget the past, and one leading to revenge against the person(s) who have caused her and her sibling so much pain. Which road will she choose?

Itsuki Kamiko

"Itsuki Kamiko."

The crystal ball glows until it shows an image of a young bespectacled shy young boy. He is seen standing beside an older girl, a few years ahead of him. They are both staring with sadness and anger at an older woman sitting on a chair, a bottle of pills at her feet, laid out on the floor. The scene changes showing the older girl pointing a knife at the woman, all while the boy stares on in horror and shock.

The scene in the ball changes showing the boy a little older, now living with other kids that are older, younger, and around the same age as him. He is shown on the ground while a group of boys and an older girl laugh at him. He struggles to hold back his tears. The scene changes again showing the bespectacled child in a closet, panicking as he is beating on the door, all while the children on the outside continue to laugh at him. He is eventually rescued but is obviously shaken.

Now at his current age, the boy is now a young man and is standing alongside Lana and her sister. He is seated with a woman of whom he is close with. ...A girlfriend? Yes, that is it. Still, a part of him still fears being out in the open. Are people looking at him? Staring at him? Watching, waiting for him to make a mistake?

He stands before a door, similar to the one of his own house. He could take the leap and see open it to see what lies beyond it. But surely staying inside is the safer, more sane route, correct? Yes, it is. But... can a life where one lives every day in fear truly be called a life?

Kanade Alarie

"Kanade Alarie."

Once more, the crystal ball shift and changes. It shows a young girl in a hospital bed being treated for a number of unexplained injuries. Her older sibling, Lana, sits beside her bedside, watching her with tear-filled eyes as she blames herself for being unable to protect her. Lana touches her sister's hand, looking at her as she sleeps, promising to always protect her no matter what.

The scene changes to show the girl a lot older and is now a teenager, performing in various venues in Kyoto and Japan. She has gathered a multitude of friends and acquaintances and has finally discovered a semblance of peace. Yet, in the deepest, darkest part of her mind, she still holds onto a slight fear. A fear that she will no longer have her older sibling or her friends to shield her from the dangers that the outside world holds.

She finds herself standing in front of a road that leads to impending darkness. Behind her is the light provided by the people who love and care for her. She could retreat to the light, and stay safe there for an elongated period of time. But... how will she learn to stand on her two feet if she doesn't face unknown challenges alone?

Starlight Specters

As she finishes observing the three members of the Kyoto team, more images of each of their lives start to show in the crystal ball. Lana and an unknown woman as friends. Itsuki sitting in front of a doctor who takes notes. Kanade cowering in fear of a shadow looming over her. Itsuki rescuing the two girls from a house in the shadows. The three competing in various matches throughout the D.R.B.

Will the light of Kyoto continue to shine on these friendly phantoms? Or will the darkness finally claim them as its own, and send them to their final beyond? We shall have to wait and see...

[someonehasstolenmybrain]

Thread of the books The Wilds Cast has talked about

Sophia Ali:

Salinger, J. D.: The Catcher in the Rye (1951)

Shannon Grace Berry:

Dolan, Naoise: Exciting Times (2020)

King, Stephen: Salem’s Lot (1975)

Kushner, Tony: Angels in America (1991)

Yanagihara, Hanya: A Little Life (2015)

Jenna Clause:

King, Stephen: The Outsider (2018)

Reign Edwards:

Baldwin, James: Collected Essays (1998)

Mia Healey:

Given, Florence: Women Don't Owe You Pretty (2020)

McConaughey, Matthew: Greenlights (2020)

Morris, Eric & Hotchkis, Joan: No Acting Please (1979)

Moshfegh, Ottessa: My Year of Rest and Relaxation (2018)

Quindlen, Kelly: Her Name in the Sky (2014)

Rooney, Sally: Conversations with Friends (2017)

Shafak, Elif: How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division (2020)

Williams, Sophie: Anti-Racist Ally: An Introduction to Activism and Action (2021)

Zisin, Nevo: The Pronoun Lowdown: Demystifying and Celebrating Gender Diversity (2021)

Erana James:

Moshfegh, Ottessa: My Year of Rest and Relaxation (2018)

Nicholls, David: One Day (2009)

Sarah Pidgeon:

Dolan, Naoise: Exciting Times (2020)

Machado, Carmen Maria: Her Body and Other Parties (2017)

Moshfegh, Ottessa: Homesick For Another World (2017)

Murakami, Haruki: Kafka on the Shore (2002)

Tallent, Gabriel: My Absolute Darling (2017)

Tolentino, Jia: Trick Mirror. Reflections on Self-Delusion (2019)

Yanagihara, Hanya: A Little Life (2015)

The book swabs they did while on set for The Wilds - Season 1:

Moshfegh, Ottessa: My Year of Rest and Relaxation (2018)

Rooney, Sally: Normal People (2018)

[capricornsims]

Strangetown Mystery 15: RUN 

“ We’re stuck here because  you!”

“ I don’t want to argue about this, Johnny. I love you, and I want to keep all of you safe. “

That was the last conversation Johnny had with his father.

Hope was long gone, buried in the cyclone of purple spores that poisoned the air. The streets of Strangetown were silent save for the groaning of spore-infected zombies, most people stood inside these days, too afraid to venture out and encounter their fallen brethren or become infected themselves. The weather that day would have been sunny if the spore clouds didn’t hang low in the atmosphere. 

Unaffected by the bizarre spores, Johnny often ventured out of the Bunker to catch the glimpses of the outside world beyond the barbed wire fence. Looking out into the horizon only drove home the fact that his family was nowhere near freedom, things were only going to get worse and he had his adulthood to look forward to living inside of a concrete box… or being transported to Division 47 to be experimented on… After all, he had not seen his father in weeks and questioning Buzz was out of the question. The General said that PT9 was running experiments, but what if he was being experimented on? He watched his family’s morale deteriorate after their father disappeared behind the laboratory doors. His mother dropped whatever façade she was putting on, choosing to stay locked in her bedroom holding onto the last piece that she had of PT9. Meanwhile, Jill was growing even more restless crying herself to sleep most of the time, and lighting things on fire in rebellion. Johnny did not want to acknowledge the schemes his uncles were plotting, the last time he saw Pascal enter the lab he looked completely insane! 

 Johnny needed to get out. The cement walls of the Bunker only served as a reminder of the freak of nature that he was, the result of an unorthodox union between a human and some extraterrestrial species. Jill even got it in her head that she deserved to be imprisoned, feeling “safe” in confinement compared to the outside world. The thought of being trapped forever instilled a fear that Johnny never felt before, as if the walls around him were closing in on him, so tight that he could not escape and return to the life he made for himself in Strangetown. If he ended up behind the laboratory doors, he would never see Ophelia or Ripp again… he needed to RUN.

He returned to the bunker before he rose suspicion, entering the bleak facility once more. The cell that his family resided in held an uncomfortable atmosphere of dread, masked by Jenny’s failed attempts at keeping things normal. That night she burned the food again because she was spacing out at the wall, too deep in her thoughts to notice Johnny turn off the stove and lead her to the couch.

Johnny: I made up my mind. I’m leaving tonight. 

Jenny: Leaving? Now? I mean- what would your father think if he returned. 

Johnny: If he returned? It’s been weeks… You and I both know that he would visit every day if he was actually working here. 

Jenny: Don’t say such things… he is fine.

Johnny could tell she was at the brink of snapping, her smile faltered as she gripped onto his arm. 

Jenny: He is fine…he’s going to come back.

She reassured herself, but the tears streaming down her face said differently. She turned to her son and nodded in agreement, she had a feeling that something was very wrong with their situation. Jenny had to face the guilt that she failed to protect her husband but she had a chance when it came to her children. If Johnny escaped the bunker, she would know he was safe. Her first son was always resilient and the harsh words he dealt with over the years made sure of that. It was hard enough to see her son grow up so fast, and the thought of throwing her firstborn  out into the dangers of the infected world scared her.

Johnny: I am going to be fine, mom. I swear Ripp is going to get me to Deadtree. That is where Ophelia lives so I can hide out there.

Jenny: I know you will be fine… but I can’t help but worry that my boy is running out into an apocalypse. But whatever it is you have a better chance in Deadtree than in here. Tell Ophelia I said hi...

Johnny: If dad does show up, tell him that I’m okay, and I that I’m sorry for yelling at you guys. 

Jenny: I’m sure he already knows… He’s proud of you. 

Tears welled up in his eyes when she mentioned his father. A pang of guilt struck at his heart knowing that their last conversation had been an argument... and even then his father would still be proud of him. Now was not the time to be emotional, but the tight hug his mom was giving him, let some tears escape before he pulled away.

Johnny leaned down to his little sister, and she wrapped arms around him tightly and hugged him close. She clung to him like a koala so he couldn’t pull away if he tried.

Jill: Promise me that you’ll come back! 

Johnny: Can’t promise much but the next time you see me we’re getting out of here! 

Jill: Then come back sooner !! 

Johnny: Look after mom, and baby bro. I will be back soon.

Jenny: Watcher, protect this boy. Don’t let him get hurt. 

3:00 a.m. 

Johnny approached the general store just as it was about to close, the sight of Ripp leaning against the wall filled him with relief as he approached him. The stars shone brightly in the sky and the sound of crickets and coyotes filled the air as they spoke. He could hardly contain his excitement as Ripp shoved snacks into his shirt pockets and planned their escape. This was happening, he was going to be free or die trying in the process. 

Johnny: Alright Ripp let’s get the hell out of here! Where is the car? 

Ripp: Car? We don’t have a car. The best chances we have is if we run as fast as we can until we reach the edge of town. 

Johnny: RIPP! That’s insane! We can’t run that fast! 

Ripp: Keep it down dude... Look I disabled Tank’s computer, he won’t be able to check the security cameras until someone fixes them... plus we need to at least try. 

Johnny: Fine we will go with your plan just open the gates already so we can get a head start.

3:05 a.m.

Ripp opened the gates of the compound, the loud sound of creaking metal rang through the air as the teens slipped through the small crack that they made. What was the point of being stealthy when their plan involved running for their lives! Johnny and Ripp shared laughter as they bounded through the desert, exposed to the outside world and tasting freedom for the first time in ages. Johnny couldn’t believe that this was actually working since Ripp’s other plan was to “Run faster!”. But so far, They were in the home run!

Tank: Huh... All the cameras seem frozen.. F*ck I need to tell the General about this. 

3:10 a.m.

Jenny: Do you really think head counts at this time is sane?!

Buzz: JENNY NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR GAMES. WHERE IS THAT GREEN BASTARD?!

Jenny: I don’t know Buzz... maybe he’s in the bathrooms or went out for fresh air. 

Buzz: THAT IS GENERAL BUZZ GRUNT TO YOU- I ONLY COUNTED TWO of YOU! Where is the SON!

Jenny: WHERE IS MY HUSBAND GENERAL BUZZ GRUNT?! Shouldn’t YOU be more concerned that he isn’t here!? 

Buzz: I-I know where he is I am asking about your - 

Tank: * over the phone * General, the security cams are tampered with, someone must have messed with them. 

Buzz: * over the phone * Not now, Tank I am with Mrs. Smith....What?! What do you mean messed with,Tank?! ... What do you MEAN THE GATE IS OPEN!?

He heard he alarms blare out, signaling the escape of Johnny Smith. His face grew a deep shade of red, the sound of Jenny’s frantic nagging pierced his ears as his mind tried to conceive what the hell was going on. He escorted Jenny back to her cell, trying to ignore her comments about PT9 and the way she broke down when she was locked inside. “ Don’t hurt him!” Was the last thing he heard as he rushed out of the bunker towards the open gate. 

3:15 a.m. 

The General shoved Tank out of the way, yelling at the top of his lungs about how incompetent's he was, the alarms blared as they stood there, looking out at the expansive desert and the darkness ahead of them. Through the haze of the darkness there were vague sounds of shuffling zombies and coyotes 

Buzz: I’m going after them! Do your job and watch the bunker, soldier!

The cool night air was thick with spores as Johnny and Ripp ran through the infected desert. The cyclone rose into the sky, as lightning struck into the crater, a great rumbling shook the ground beneath their feet as growls rang through the sky. Johnny even spotted one of the infected, dazed and sputtering nonsense as she moved and jerked around them. He had no time to waste taking in the absolute disaster that Strangetown had become. Freedom in this new world felt odd, sure he was safe from becoming a science experiment, but now he was exposed to the infection, the zombies and the townsfolk that knew who he was... He couldn’t wait to get to Dead Tree after all of this. 

3:15 a.m.

Buzz: I WILL CAPTURE YOU SMITH! YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER!

Buzz: MARK MY WORDS, BOY YOU WILL BE SORRY!

Buzz: RUN ALL YOU WANT BUT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE!

4:00 a.m

Johnny and Ripp broke out of the desert and into the other town located near by. The atmosphere was eerie and a thick fog hung over the neighborhood as they walked through the empty streets, the faint breeze carried the sounds of ethereal groans but the source was unknown. Ripp lead Johnny to one of the creepier buildings found in Deadtree, the Meeting house. The structure was foreboding and held the odd sensation that entering it would get them killed, yet this was where Ophelia lived now, and the only place Johnny could hide.

Johnny: Oh my watcher, thank you for helping me, Ripp. I can’t thank you enough. 

Ripp: Any time bro, I wouldn’t know what to do If I found out that you were vivisected or something. It’s shady as hell so I’m glad I got you out first. 

Johnny: Can you do me a solid and look after mom and Jill, they are still in danger...

Ripp: Heck yeah, I’ll even look out for your dad and see if he’s around. Anyways, I’m sure Ophelia is tired of waiting. Let’s get you inside. 

Ophelia stood silently in the Meeting house, pacing around the small apartment she had above the main hall. She wore a plain brown jacket and the look on her face showed that she had not slept in ages. She turned when Ripp opened the door, a small smile formed on her lips as she asked about Johnny before turning back to the television she had on. 

Johnny: Ophelia, I’m here. I made it out alive. 

Ophelia: Johnny! You’re here! I missed you so much I could barely sleep. I’m so happy that you’re alive! 

Johnny: I’m happy that i’m alive too... I am here to stay for a while so we can catch up a little. 

Ophelia: I wouldn’t mind catching up with you, Johnny.

Johnny: Yeah we’ll get to that too. hehe

Ripp: Alright guys get a room. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.

Ophelia: Yeah right! Come with us, Ripp. I think we all just need a nice break.

Strangetown Mystery 15.5: Test Subject 

The weeks following Nervous’ disappearance were agonizingly painful and dull at the same time. The moment he returned to the castle he was met with a sharp needle to the neck and the unwelcome prospect of newly designed experiments for him to be subject to. He had heard about the Strangetown Syndrome and the effects it had on the human brain, the way that it spread into the spinal chord and made the body into a vessel as the person remained in a state of unconsciousness. The way that it made the body jolt and convulse made the joints ache incredibly, the spores taking over had to get used to walking on two legs and speaking the way humans do, after all. 

All of these notes were taken down by Loki and Circe during the weeks that Nervous remained grounded in the basement, he could only tell time from the shifting of light in the glass windows and the routine experiments Loki was running on him. His entertainment was swiftly taken away upon his return, and any hand-me-down clothes he owned were confiscated, leaving him in a simple cotton hospital gown. To make matters worse, the Beakers were not holding back on the level of their brutality, as form of punishment they rarely paid attention to his pleas of mercy and continued experiments without hesitation. Not that he was fully conscious most of the time, his mind overtaken with pain killers, sedatives and the spores infecting his brain. 

Sometimes he could feel the world around him grow dark, the welcoming embrace of nothingness enveloping his body and bringing him out of the world of pain and sadness he was in. The cold boney hands of death never touched him, but he begged for him to do so, the more he pleaded for escape the bastard only spared his life, returning him to the excruciating routine of electrocutions and chemical baths. He never understood why Death never came to him, over so many years he’s seen him many times bringing him a few seconds of relief before he woke up to Loki and Circe prodding his dying body. They seemed to enjoy the prospect that even he couldn’t escape through death. 

Today, Nervous wasn’t sure what Loki was doing with him, only mindlessly following orders as the scientist tapped away at machines and made things glow and buzz. Sometimes the machines took a scan of him, sometimes they electrocuted him- he wouldn’t be surprised if it did, his right arm lost feeling long ago because of it. 

Nervous: What are we doing...today..Loki.

Loki: Silence ! You, nervous subject, address me as Dr. Beaker in this lab. 

Nervous: *grumble* Dr. Beaker.. What are we doing today? 

Loki: I’m glad you asked, test subject. We are revolutionizing medicine in this lab. The Curious brothers have failed to produce a viable antidote in the time The Government allotted them. So I, Loki Beaker went out of my way to generously aid the public and produce a vaccine for them.

Nervous: I - don’t think that’s - 

Loki: LEGAL? Well, Nervous, now’s not the time to do things the legal route. People are desperate, and they will come to ME for a cure. Thanks to you, my Nervous subject, people will be cured. 

Loki: Now drink the f*cking antidote!

Nervous: No thank you! I’ve drank enough today. I can’t keep food down...I’m tired. 

Loki: I will be sure to write that down...but THIS is a new formula. THIS will work, So DRINK IT! 

Nervous: No! I said I was tired, Loki...

Loki: DR. BEAKER - How many times do we have to go through this? And you are tired? Nervous, you aren’t the one slaving away at this antidote! I AM! All you do is drink it and puke up all my work! You are Lucky that I don’t throw you out into the street!

Nervous: We have been doing this for weeks, Dr. Beaker, it’s not going to work.

Loki: I have been doing this for weeks. Nervous, we have come so far from the beginning. You don’t cough up blood, break out into rashes, or shake uncontrollably anymore. This. Will. Work. 

The mad scientist forced Nervous to sit down in the chair next to them. His face was a deep seething red as the beaker was tipped into his test subject’s mouth. Nervous had no choice but to choke down the purple liquid while Loki glared down at him, making sure that he kept the chemical mixture in. The antidote tasted sweet at first, then the burning began at the back of his throat and spread throughout his body. He dropped the beaker and the glass shattered across the stone floor, sending Loki in a fit of rage as Nervous doubled over in pain. 

Nervous could not make out the onslaught of Icelandic curses, he could hear the beating in his heart along with an ear piercing ringing. He felt his joints tense and ache as the world grew dark once more, but this was not death... Death was comforting even if temporary, this was excruciating. 

Loki: That’s IT I’ve had it with you! You are clearly nothing but a useless guinea pig.....get out.....you are nothing....die...

Loki’s words were drawn out in between the ringing. The last thing he could feel were rough hands grabbing at his shoulders, lifting him out of the chair and dragging him across the stone floors. 

The cool desert air hit his skin as he crumbled to the ground somewhere in front of the castle. Nothing mattered now....

ŦĦ€ ΜØŦĦ€Ř ĆΔŁŁED ΔŇĐ HE ΜUŞŦ Ř€ŞPØŇĐ 

[mythoughttherapy]

“It seems to me, more and more, we are pain, and hurt, and loneliness covered with skin.”

—Elif Shafak, How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division

[ijustkindalikebooks]

I am writing this half seven my time on the 31st August as of course I have made no time for myself once again, I'm so good at doing that sometimes, yet somehow can fit in all these books. It's mighty puzzling.

This month I read over 35 books and four of these were above all others and were given five stars, leading my tally for perfect books this year at 29 so far which I'm told is pretty generous but hey, sometimes a book that gets your vibe and I'm lucky to keep finding them.

Here are the books this month that definitely were on my wavelength.

The Outrage by William Hussey - The first book I read this month, The Outrage set the standard for the rest of the next four weeks. The tale of a right-wing Dystopian government taking over Britain and making illegal anyone who is different including those who are LGBT, The Outrage keeps you hooked and in moments on the edge of your seat. This book may seem very real for those still in British colonies who have had to deal with colonial law still being in place hundreds of years later that have ensured they are still being punished for who they are.

I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jeannette McCurdy - It's almost a trope to love this book, however it is really that brilliantly written. Funny in moments, incredibly sad in other it will leave you in awe and disbelief - still not over the messafe her mom sent to her insulting her and then asking her to replace the fridge as it's broken. This book isn't an easy rad for anyone whose had to deal with a a narcissistic parent, but it is a brilliant read and I definitely recommend it, sometimes it's nice to know you're not alone.

The Night In Question (The Agathas #2) by Liz Lawson and Kathleen Glasgow - I loved the first book in this series and the second lives up to it. Giving us the investigation into Mona Moody and an attack in the modern day, this book delivers in every moment. I love these characters and I really hope there will be a next one, I love these two authors working together on this series. If you miss Holly Jackson's series, this is perfect for you - or Maureen Johnson.

How To Stay Sane In An Age Of Division by Elif Shafak - A short but fantastic book on the current state of the world entwined with a touch of memoir from the author, this book is a thoughtful and brilliant delve into the politics of today, particularly post-pandemic (I say that while a new variant begins to spread) I really recommend it if you have world anxiety right now, it gives me hope such minds are out there thinking about how things could be better.

These were my favourite books of this month, what were yours? Have you read any of these? Let me know your thoughts!

Thanks for reading!

Vee xo

[coinywords]

“In losing our voice something in us dies.”

How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division

Elif Shafak

[luxe-pauvre]

OCTOBER 2022

Read:

How Sofia Coppola made Marie Antoinette

Almost everything you think you know about diets is wrong - here’s why

The Anxiety of Influencers

Welcome to hell, Elon

Stop Saying You “Could Never Do Science”

One Part of Your Life You Shouldn’t Optimize

Scientific slowdown is not inevitable

Mapping the brain to understand the mind

Meditation is like mountaineering: approach it with care

Why philosophy needs myth

on and off

Into the Fairy Castle: The Persistence of Victorian Liberalism

It’s Not All In Your Head

Are men animals?

The beautiful experiment

Medicine’s Wellness Conundrum

The Tyranny of Merit: What’s Become of the Common Good? by Michael J. Sandel

Women and Other Monsters: Building a New Mythology by Jess Zimmerman

Insatiable by Daisy Buchanan

Livewired by David Eagleman

How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division by Elif Shafak

Black Box Thinking by Matthew Syed

The Harpy by Megan Hunter

Glucose Revolution by Jessie Inchauspé

Watched:

2 Years Of Writing A Book In 30 Minutes*

Antonio Damasio meets Noga Arikha

Digital Women: Blade Runner 2049, Ex Machina, and Her

Blonde**

Last Night in Soho

This England

Listened To:

Henry Marsh on brain surgery

Temptation by Heaven 17

Renaissance by Beyonce (again, again)

Went To:

The Art of Movement, Van Cleef & Arpels @ The Design Museum

Fashion Museum Bath

Sam Smith @ The Royal Albert Hall

Food for Life – The New Science of Eating Well with Prof. Tim Spector

[befehlvonganzunten]

get to know me

thank you for tagging me @i-lovethatforme, @coykoii and @over-the-sun!

rules: WHATEVER

three ships: spideychelle, sharpwin, everlark

last song: 'turtleneck' by the national

last movie: 'the fifth element'

currently reading: 'how to stay sane in an age of division' by elif shafak

currently consuming: the obligatory 'good morning, cruel world'-cigarette

currently craving: the next 'ted lasso' episode bc i'm impatient af

tagging: everyone 😝

[piermanwalter]

Thief’s Apprentice: Popular Fiction in Surenia

As many revenants no longer have the mental faculty to keep track of stories and reality at the same time, these stories are mostly for the living to rationalise their plague-ridden surroundings. Common themes of the oldest and most well-known stories are escaping the plague and love that lasts after death. These stories usually follow someone as they travel across Surenia, and serve as escapist fantasy for bedridden plaguebearers as they look forward to all the travelling they can do as revenants and wait to die.

CURE QUEST

Hearing of the revenant plague spreading to their kingdom, instead of hoarding food and barricading themselves in fortresses like neighboring kingdoms, Prince Orto and his mother Queen Mavia set out to investigate the cause of the plague and find a cure with their court mage Ovid. The story is allegedly the writings of Ovid himself as he recorded their adventures, but Cure Quest is so fantastic and implausible that most people now believe it’s complete fiction. 

The basic story structure of Cure Quest is Ovid receiving cryptic messages from the Gods to guide the Prince and the Queen, then they encounter a weird guy in the wilderness that Prince Orto fights and/or befriends, then they rescue a town from some disaster and are allowed to rest there in thanks, and then Ovid finds some town specialty herb or potion that alleviates the plague a bit, but doesn’t totally cure it, so they have to keep going, and then they get captured by another kingdom or mage or giant gryphon that is too strong for them to beat, then Queen Mavia sings their captors to sleep or distracts them while Ovid comes up with an escape plan. By doing this many times, they eventually build up a huge procession.

There are many versions of Cure Quest, but they all feature Prince Orto making friends with wandering knights with extremely specific superpowers, such as a knight who can eat mountains of food, a knight who can steal anything that can fit in the palm of his hand, a knight who draws blood every time his sword is unsheathed, a knight who can turn into a flock of sparrows, etc. Most versions of Cure Quest are also known for huge epic battles between the royal knights and hordes of insane revenants, knights of rival kingdoms, monsters, and evil mages. 

However, there are also Cure Quest versions that address how a plague-ridden land can’t realistically support full-scale wars all the time, so the problems are instead solved with cunning tricks, political leverage, and magic.

In all versions of Cure Quest, the royal procession follows Ovid to The Fountain of Life, which can cure any disease or injury, but the Gods have led them to the end of The World. It turns out The Fountain of Life is on a separate land mass floating off the edge of The World, and while everyone is deciding how to get there, Prince Orto becomes impatient and jumps off the edge, but he misses and falls through space for all eternity. The rest of the procession builds a bridge to The Fountain, but as soon as they all cross, The World flies away. 

It’s widely believed that Cure Quest originated from Beringians in Surenia, since knights and dedicated soldier classes in general don’t exist in local cultures, and the effects of plague described in the story are hilariously wrong. Some people believe Cure Quest must have been first spun in the early years of the plague when people didn’t know exactly how it worked and genuinely had no idea revenants could be sane and articulate. Since different locations in Surenia are mentioned in many versions of Cure Quest, there is much literary debate over which city produced the earliest version of Cure Quest.

This story is the most popular among the living and not very well liked among revenants because all of the named characters are alive and all revenants are mindless shambling wrecks. However, the continued popularity of Cure Quest comes from there being a version anyone can enjoy. Children are told the version where Prince Orto is their age and Mavia is a beautiful young queen, and everyone aside from Orto, who was too impatient, got to live on an amazing new World. Once they outgrow that story, they can find another version where Prince Orto is a callous Machiavellian adult and Queen Mavia is wise and elderly, and they finally accept the plague has no cure, so they kill themselves to become the revenants they once so reviled. And if there’s no version to you liking, you can always make your own.

Most Surenians see leaving The World as a metaphor for death, and Prince Orto missing The Fountain as a metaphor for those who die before their time and go mad.

Muireland has coopted Cure Quest as an embellished retelling of their own kingdom’s founding and claims jumping off the edge of The World is a metaphor for establishing a new homeland on the edge of sea cliffs, and their own royal family is descended from Queen Mavia.

Despite getting blown up and occupied by Gehennans, many Veilheimers are still struck by, “Wow! Real Prince! Real knights! This is just like Cure Quest!”

WANDERING GONOT

He wakes his shirt covered in dirt and thinks, “How rude to pitch dirt upon a sleeping man! Dare they do this to I, the... I... know not mine own name.” A wooden signpost reads GO NOT. PLAGUE LAINS HERE. “Lo! My name. Gonot... Plague... Lainshere. I do not like the middle part! Bolfred Miller be called Bolfred Cheating Miller, but his name be not Cheating though he be cheating. A fool’s title on us both. My name is Gonot Lainshere.”

Gonot stands and leaves and sees a milkmaid. “Holla maid! There be dirt on my shirt, but not on my heart. Knows you the-” The maid cries like a hawk and runs. Dirt on a shirt be so vile? Gonot bends to clean and Horror! Skin is flaying off his legs! Nails torn from his fingers, but not a drop of blood! Bowels spilling from his belly! Gonot is dead! He is walking and speaking but he is dead!

Gonot is chased out of town with torches and pitchforks and wanders aimlessly around Surenia, getting into shenanigans and witnessing all sorts of interesting things. Wandering Gonot is a very relatable story about one of the first sane revenants figuring out basic things that every modern revenant knows, like seeing through solid objects, eating, or kitbashing your own metal prosthetics. 

Unlike Cure Quest, there is only one version of Wandering Gonot written over 600 years ago. Some attempts were made by other writers to add to the story, but the syntax and style of the original writer are so distinct that imitations are easy to detect. Wandering Gonot is historically important because it’s set when Surenians were most afraid of the plague, now that symptoms and epidemiology were better understood, but revenants were not. Earlier stories in Cure Quest had knights charging fearlessly into combat with supernaturally strong revenants that caused crushing bruises with the slightest touch, but by the time this story was written, it was known that massive inexplicable bruises were the first sign of plague infection, so Gonot empties towns and ends battles just by showing up. This time period is also significant because there was once so many people that Gonot could find a new town after one day of walking, but now revenants could wander for months and not encounter anything but thousands of miles of wasteland.

After wandering Surenia, barely holding himself together, trying to make friends, and killing thousands by accident, Gonot gets hit by a mudslide and sinks to the bottom of a lake, which dries up and traps him underground, so Gonot decides to Lainshere until the lake floods again. The story ends with a plea for the listeners to make their communities kinder and more peaceful so when Gonot wanders again, he won’t have to suffer.

Gonot probably never existed, since he is written as too preoccupied and destitute to record his own travels or tell them all to someone else. It’s believed that another early sane revenant wrote Wandering Gonot as a compilation of real events that happened to many different sane revenants in attempt to prove their sanity and humanise them to the hostile and suspicious living. It worked, because the story has been preserved for all this time, and the living like the story because it makes revenants funny and understandable, and revenants like it because many of Gonot’s struggles match their own. Most city dwellers, living and dead, are grateful because they don’t suffer from lack of basic understanding like the characters in Wandering Gonot do. 

Although Wandering Gonot is meant to be funny, many stories have an undercurrent of inescapable loneliness, such as “Priest of Harus” where Gonot meets another sane revenant but he’s a High Priest of a different God than he prayed to, so they could never be friends, and “Bone Mare” where Gonot finds a horse revenant and tries to catch it, but no matter what it always runs faster than he can so it slowly gets smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappears, except for one extremely divisive story that has since spun off into its own separate thing.

MERCIFUL DEATH

Gonot is hanging out in an orchard after harvest, because it’s a nostalgic place close to civilization, but nobody is there because all the remaining fruit is rotten. He sees a living maiden in a tree and tries to leave before she sees him and raises the alarm, but she isn’t afraid, introducing herself like he was any normal person. Gonot climbs the tree and has the first conversation with a living person he can remember. Goblinder asks how he was able to stay sane, then asks Gonot to strangle her. It is her town custom for plague bearers to do penance by starvation, and once they know she has the plague, they will wall her into a room. Goblinder would rather die quickly at the hands of a stranger than slowly by the hands of her friends. 

Gonot doesn’t want to strangle her, so he pulls an arrow out of his back and stabs her in the heart with it. After Goblinder dies, Gonot climbs down and thinks about how plaguebearers are like rotten fruit because nobody wants them, and sane revenants are like good wine because it is a rare state that not all rotten fruit can reach.

20 stories later, Gonot encounters a sane revenant with an arrow sticking out of her chest. It’s Goblinder. 

Although the original story wasn’t explicitly romantic, a lot of motifs from it, such as a heart pierced by arrows, fruit wine, and being in a tree with someone, became symbols of romance. There have been several rewrites and expansions of Merciful Death, usually with Goblinder deciding to travel with Gonot after either their first or second meeting. The archetype of a revenant killing someone begging for death and later falling in love with them was used for countless other stories. One Merciful Death subgenre exploded in popularity 300-400 years ago, because this was the time Veilheim was finally prosperous enough to support fine art and literature, and also relationships between the dead and the living weren’t taboo yet. 

One Merciful Death rewrite in this subgenre became so popular that it superseded the original and when people talk about Merciful Death, it’s usually in reference to this one. In this version, Gonot is a Gore Mage royal doctor and Goblinder is a Princess, and instead of everything being over and done in a single conversation, Gonot agonises over whether or not to kill Goblinder and what it means for her kingdom to lose their last heir while trying not to think about what she means to him, and Goblinder tries to live what remains of her life by taking scented baths, suffering elegantly from plague, hunting, and throwing huge parties while screaming inside because she truly doesn’t want to die. Whenever they meet, Gonot tries to stay professional while Goblinder tries to act resolute. After several emotional breakdowns and dramatic confessions, Goblinder finally loves Gonot enough to trust him to kill her. What tragic heartbreak! If Goblinder didn’t love him, she could yet live! Gonot uses Gore Magic to pull all of Goblinder’s blood out of a few small cuts so she can die painlessly. 

Gonot is depressed and wandering aimlessly outside for medicinal herbs to avoid the royal palace as much as possible and suddenly gets shot in the chest with an arrow. A hunter runs up and apologises for mistaking him for a wild animal. It’s Goblinder. 

Detractors hate this version of Merciful Death because the original was about two ordinary people calmly choosing to kill and die because this was the only way to survive in a world that feared them, and Merciful Death is basically set in Veilheim. Gonot and Goblinder are rich assholes wasting everyone’s time and money on interpersonal drama and killing and dying out of laziness and cowardice. This story is also hated for public health reasons now that romance between the dead and living is taboo, and also how it’s creepy to kill someone right as they are most in love, forcing them to stay in love forever.

Enthusiasts love this version of Merciful Death because it portrays the wild and opulent zeitgeist of Veilheim 400 years ago, and regardless of how it’s seen now, there really were romantic scandals between revenants and the living at that time, and Gonot would surely rather be a rich educated Gore Mage doctor in a kingdom where revenants are accepted than a terrified and confused peasant where almost everyone is trying to kill him. The whole point is that society has finally become kind and peaceful enough that outrageous luxury and interpersonal drama are the driving forces of people’s lives instead of survival.

Merciful Death Enthusiasts and Detractors are basically political parties. The Mayor of Veilheim stays neutral because he is a foreigner and wouldn’t have as much knowledge and attachment of Merciful Death as a born and raised Veilheimer.

Master Courtesan is a huge public Merciful Death stan because it’s expected of her, but her dark secret is that she doesn’t think it’s very good. Also she killed the author centuries ago for entirely different reasons.

Tax Collector has the political leanings of a Merciful Death stan but is a Merciful Death hater, because his job involves stabbing and being stabbed and he’s sick of people seeing it in a romantic context.

THAES

Unlike the huge rambling epics above, Thaes doesn’t exist in a specific story and instead serves as a mouthpiece for social commentary. Thaes is witty enough to make interesting observations, but is also oblivious enough to say them out loud. Thaes blunders her way to success via blind luck and coincidence, or she could just be resourceful. Depending on the story, she may be living or dead, anywhere on The World, set in any time. In a more contemporary setting, if Thaes is dead, she is instead called Careless Weaver. If you don’t want to reveal where you got information, you can say, “I heard it from Thaes.” Naming your children Gonot and Goblinder is universally seen as cringe, but Thaes is always a popular name for girls.

Thaes got the plague and had to leave the living district. She sees a stubborn donkey, refusing to take a single step and braying so loudly no one else can speak. “Good morning, The Mayor! How brightly Veilheim shines under your rule!” Thaes sees a towering lumbering ox, pulling ten times its own weight but moving as slowly as a snail. “Good morning, Noble Porter! Any important deliveries today?” Thaes sees a wild ass, kicking high and menacing its handlers with its horns. “Good morning, Tax Collector! Surely not everyone owes you money!”

Thaes is deciding which prosthetics to save for before she dies. She visits Noble Engineer and he says, “Your carpometacarpal and distal phalanges are gone! Do you want 32-2 cobalt steel? Do you want 56-1 lead steel? Do you-” Thaes interrupts, “You speak too quickly and I don’t understand what you are asking! I will ask someone else.” Thaes visits a Principian and he says, “I won’t let the Veilheimers make a carcass out of you. Why don’t you become a bronze statue like me?” Thaes says, “I may not look like a carcass in a statue, but it’s so heavy! I will feel like a carcass.” Thaes visits a Cyrenean and he says, “Don’t get prosthetics. Let yourself fall to pieces.” 

Careless Weaver stands in the market with her wares, yelling, “Tubes! Get your metal tubes! Use them for anything you want! Water pipes! Prosthetics! Augers! Opium cooling!”. A guard asks, “Say, Careless Weaver. You are not an Industrial Mage. Where did you get these metal tubes?” Thaes says, “We got new spring-powered looms put into the textile factory. We revenants had a go, and now look at them. Post-hole diggers! Pastry stamps! Rolling pins!”

Although Thaes stories are mostly told in person, and their format ensures a ton of them are extremely horrible, there are some written compilations of them, and Thaes will probably become a character in the distant future the same way Gonot is a character now.

ROSANGELA AND BENDANIEL

In a world where the plague is a fact of life, it’s fitting that the most popular horror story portrays being plague-free as alienating and unnatural. As the plague reaches the western shore of Surenia, the royal family escaped by sea to Sidra, but burned all the ships they left behind. Rosangela and her husband Bendaniel are imploring a powerful mage to save them and their children, and before he leaves to Sidra, he gives them a book of instructions for a magic ritual that allows them to be plague-free while they are conducting it and live forever, free from revenants once it’s finished.

By the end of the month, the plague has hit the coastline, and both of them have been bitten by plaguebearing animals with no ill effects. But the steps of the ritual are steadily getting more difficult, rubbing human ashes on themselves and eating nothing. Fortunately, the ritual also protects their children, who are growing up and looking more and more like their parents. The ritual worsens, and by the time it’s finished, their whole town is empty except for them and insane revenants. Rosangela and Bendaniel starve to death in a pit of human ashes. 

Their children are now identical to them, take their parents’ names, and have children of their own. Rosangela and Bendaniel and Rosangela and Bendaniel live like ghosts, unable to be touched by anything aside from their own family. When Rosangela and Bendaniel die, Rosangela and Bendaniel take their place as the heads of the family, and Rosangela and Bendaniel have to take on new responsibilities. 

Rosangela and Bendaniel and Rosangela and Bendaniel live in a little house together, with a pit of corpses on one side for Rosangela and Rosangela and another pit on the other side for Bendaniel and Bendaniel. 

Unlike the other stories, the city of Alhambra claims these people actually exist and are still alive. They are studied by the mages there, although it might be a lie to maintain Alhambra’s elite magic reputation. Rosangela and Bendaniel reportedly regret performing the ritual and refuse to share it, but it is known that it involves huge amounts of mugwort. 

Most people believe Rosangela and Bendaniel don’t exist, and the story is a cautionary tale about extreme measures taken to avoid the plague being worse than getting the plague, which makes a lot of sense given that the most plague-free regions are filled with inbreeding, cannibalism, and/or violent xenophobia. 

Some people believe that this story is about how life itself is bad, plague or no plague, since Rosangela and Bendaniel suffer every way the living can suffer before dying and compelling their children to replace them, and becoming a revenant is the only escape from going extinct or having someone take your place and continue to suffer.